The surroundings are nothing, yet they appear to be solid. No matter where he would walk, nothing would change, everything remained the same. He had been the only being around. The only being that was allowed to change.

Until it appeared.

Before it made itself known he had run and ran till he couldn't anymore. Ran as far as his legs could carry him. He had screamed and yelled and cursed for however long he had pleased

Then it appeared to him out of nowhere. Simply out of thin air. He had his back turned one moment, then the next he was met face to face with this being. A being that had said nothing simply raised its hand and gripped his chin. Forcing him to witness it, to take into account its appearance. Its face. Its mask.

Forcing him to look into foreign, though familiar eyes. Eyes that have witnessed too much, have seen too much chaos and bloodshed. But have also witnessed the closest things to harmony and peace.

It appears to be him, what with hair he rarely cuts, a stubble face, pale skin, and smudges underneath his- its eyes from him barely sleeping.

Given first glance, even he would be fooled. But then again, even now he could barely recognize himself. Could barely recognize the face that watches him in the mirror. The face and body that moves as he does. The face and body that are oddly intact and whole instead of engulfed in dark red, covered with flayed skin, then to top it off filled with corrupted grace.

Yeah, he still hadn't quite gotten used to it.

He hadn't gotten used to the fact that he controls it, controls what he does with his body and mind… for only a limited time though. And now, he thinks, that one of those moments has ended.

In the place of his normal, tired hazel eyes. There lies one eye enveloped in darkness, black as charcoal. One that seems to display chaos and unlimited hunger. On the other hand, the other eye is enveloped in light or energy, shining as gold as the stars. This one displays a scene of harmony and fulfillment.

He can't help but be entranced by them. Entranced by what could be described as the Yin and Yang in the flesh, in one being. That one being representing balance as it works both sides, representing both the dark and the light. Cold and hot. Negative and positive.

The eyes seem to keep him grounded where he stands, unable to move unless instructed to. Staring into them he feels both grief and joy. Could see every joyous moment in his life. From the time he and Dean set off fireworks on the Fourth of July, to when he had met Jess and had bought a ring that he planned to propose with. He can't help but smile, can't help but remember that his long life had at the very least held happiness. No matter how short they may have been.

Then it is twisted, the scenes that only he could see have changed into something much darker. Changed into every moment that he had held a negative emotion. And there's so many. Every argument, every death, every torture, everything is shown by it. From his mother burning on the ceiling of his nursery to arguments with his dad to being kicked out to Jess burning on the ceiling, to dad dead on the hospital floor, to Dean being torn apart by hellhounds, to… to him being in the cage…

It's too much.

The grip on his chin gets tighter as he feels his muscles tighten. His eyes are welling with tears that soon overflow and cascade down his cheeks. He can't sob, can't vocalize his emotions. He's unable to.

It's doing, he concludes.

And like that the scenes fade away. The compilation ending on Kevins' burnt-out eyes and Dean's terrified expression.

He comes back to himself on his knees -likely from his knees buckling- and he's left in its grip simply shaking with tears falling down his face. His eyes still staring into the others. A smirk seeming to appear on its face, or rather his face.

When it begins to speak he can't help but flinch. As it continues it does so not with one voice or language. But rather with two. Two that send the same message:

-"Nunc ego sum, vos estis nunc mihi qui tandem nos sumus"-

-"Ol zir g, g geh ol, ge geh el"-

With that its mouth simply settles into a straight line and its face returning to a blank expression. The pressure on his chin remains. The air, however, changes around him. He could feel the hairs on his neck and arms rising.

The last thing he sees are eyes that he will never forget.

Eyes that had become a part of his own face.

The last thing he hears are words said in a different lifetime.

"Of all those times you ran away, you weren't running from them, you were always running towards me".

And the last thing he feels is an odd sense of comfort.

He comes awake with a start, words of it seeming to die on his lips. Bringing his hands to his face he could feel traces of tears on his cheeks. He frantically wipes them away as his eyes scan across the room to notice it's only engulfed in darkness, the only exception being the light from under his door leading to the hallway. And instead of the noise of almost silent steps, all he could hear is his own panting breaths.

'It wasn't real… it was just a dream', his brain attempts to reason.

While comforting, he's aware he's simply lying to himself. Because when have his dreams ever simply been dreams? When haven't they been filled with fire and blood? Or filled with unwanted premonitions or memories?

No, the only good dreams were ones of nothingness. Ones where you aren't even aware you exist and that you have to wake up to a world that is once again in danger. Ones where your brain goes completely blank, where you aren't enslaved to your loathing thoughts and memories. Something the cage couldn't provide.

He hoists himself to the headboard of his bed putting himself into a sitting position. Then he runs his fingers through his damp hair, whether damp from sweat or tears he isn't sure. His breaths have leveled now, so panic attack successfully averted. At least that's the one good thing he has going for him.

With the little light through the cracks of the door, he gets a glance of his bandaged wrists. The white bandages having been stained with what he could rationally conclude as blood. "Just great", he grumbles quietly.

It's been about three days since the detox. Three days where he has had either an overbearing older brother or a fatigued yet observant Angel at his side. Throughout those days he had usually slept, alot. Nevertheless, when he was lucid there had always been someone in his desk chair asking questions like "How you feelin'?" or "You think you could eat something?". Or someone who changed his bandages, no matter how much he protested. So waking up to an empty room was new. If he's being honest, he isn't complaining.

He appreciates what they're doing, but he still needs some solitude from time to time. Going back to the questions, he had always answered simply with "I'm fine" and "Not now". Because to be honest, he was fine, he was just tired and felt drained. He wasn't in pain despite his torn wrists. Even his nights had been dreamless, well until this night.

When Dean had told him that he had gone through detox even he couldn't quite believe it. Simply since he has always had repercussions of pained muscles, nausea, fever, chills, etc. This time was very mellow in contrast. Though the fuzzy memory was new.

Well, how Dean had described it had been mellow. Although he could tell that he had left some details out. Dean was simply watering down the truth. Even Cas seemed to do the same, even with his not-so-great lying abilities.

So much for not keeping any more secrets. And with his luck these past centuries, it has something to do with him.

He could never catch a god-damn break, could he?

Letting out a tired sigh he removes his sheets from his form, proceeding to shift his body to the right until his bare feet meet the cold floor. He reaches over to the lamp on his side and tugs on the pull cord switch causing soft lighting to saturate the room. Ignoring his alarm clock at the moment he examines his wrists that are layered with stained bandaging.

Deciding that it needs to be redressed he grabs the first-aid kit he always keeps close. Carefully he unwraps his wrists seeing that the dried substance isn't blood… but another substance entirely. Peering closely at the bandage it seems to be black like tar or oil, yet it emits no smell. Either way, it makes his stomach drop, and could feel nausea attempting to rise in his throat. He quickly swallows it, knowing it would just be stomach acid due to him not eating.

Not wanting to make himself sick he quickly deposits them into the trash can. Moving on he observes his wrists that are not scabbed nor covered in black fluid. All there seems to be is undamaged skin.

Who knew not seeing torn flesh would make him sick?

Covering his mouth and finding whatever energy he could muster, he books it to the bathroom. He barely manages to get to the toilet before he empties whatever is left in his stomach. And unfortunately for him, it's simply acid.

Sam had slept a lot, for the most part, only being awake for an hour at most in the past few days. Those being the only times Dean had managed to get some fluids in him. And yes he did tell Sam the truth.

Okay… maybe only a piece of the truth.

Anyways, Sam wouldn't eat. Wouldn't even eat the rabbit food Dean had forced himself to prepare. Nothing made him budge. Instead, he says things like, "I'm not hungry" or "I just wanna sleep". And sleep he did, despite Dean's obvious protests.

Overall, conversations were kept short and not many details were given by neither him nor Cas, well after Cas had come around that is. His justification, he had wanted them to research and get some more answers before laying down everything that had happened during his detox. And the fact that Sam didn't remember much helped. That meant while Sam slept on, without waking up screaming, Cas and him had been left in the library to research.

Yippee.

Almost three whole days of searching and nothing. Nothing concrete to explain how and why this is happening.

As of now, they had been searching for a few hours. The only sound being the flipping of pages and the long slurps of coffee. Cas seemed to find a liking for coffee with cream, he had noticed. The table was filled with stacks of books that covered such topics as metaphysical energy to how to manifest. So you could tell they were getting desperate. And you could tell that Dean's attention span was wearing thin, Cas hadn't seemed to care though.

Kevin's notes, which were able to be deciphered, hadn't helped in the slightest. Primarily since it hadn't included anything about what would happen if someone hadn't completed the trials. Likely because God -or Metatron- had expected the person to go through with them, or that they would simply die if not achieved.

But here was Sammy always defying the odds. With the help of a bastard Angel, he supposes.

After he kept on rereading the same page over and over again for what had to be five minutes he decided it was time for more coffee. That and the fact that he began to start seeing double. Before getting up he took a look at his old watch that translated to "7:18 a.m". Which meant Sam would likely be waking up soon, his routine these past days was very predictable.

"Imma make us another pot of joe, so you can continue searching if ya want". He notified Cas as he proceeded to rise from his seat.

"Who's Joe?" Cas asked, his face puzzled yet very serious.

"Uh… joe is just another saying for coffee." Dean attempted to explain, although Cas didn't appear convinced.

"You know what… never mind, just come on. Wouldn't mind some company, the kitchen kind of gives me the creeps". He said as he walked out of the library with his mug in hand. Looking over his shoulder sneakily he saw that Cas was following him, a book in hand.

After pouring the max amount of water in the machine and scooping up almost the last of the coffee grains - he needs to go shopping soon - he presses the button that says "brew'. He then stretches himself out in an attempt to wake himself up. He turns around, relaxing his backside on the edge of the counter and stifling a yawn. He thinks of what to say.

"So… we got nothing". He glances at Cas who has found a spot on the kitchen's bench, a book open. "Three days of reading book after book and nothing" He grumbles as he runs both hands down his face with both frustration and exhaustion. "We're no closer to finding a reason for why this decided to happen now, or why it's happening in the first place."

"Well, I may have something.". Cas speaks up,

"Wait… really? You better not be pulling my leg here Cas." He states, not allowing himself to get his hopes up.

"Um, I'm not… nevermind". The Angel blundered "Anyways as I was reading, my mind kept wandering back to what I saw in Sam's head while he was incapacitated". He explains and Dean casually nods in response. "Well, there seemed to be pieces left from something similar to a dome…".

"Wait, wait, wait. A dome? Seriously? The last time I checked he had only had a wall in his head put by Death himself. So who in the hell put a dome in his head?" Dean interrupted resulting in Cas's face - Jimmy's face actually - displaying annoyance. Cas sighs and then gestures to the book. "Well, this book details how people tend to create walls or mental blocks, subconsciously to block traumatic memories. And it also speculates that some psychics have a similar process. But, instead of with memories it's done with abilities and instead of a wall, it's a sort of dome or mound. This would explain why some psychics abilities developed later in life".

He takes a few minutes to let that sink in. And to confirm his understanding he speaks. "Alright… so you think that since Sam is technically psychic he created a barrier over his powers... subconsciously after getting his soul back?" Cas nods in response. "Okay, if he did that, and it managed to stay intact these past few years. How did it basically implode? Especially since it didn't happen until after our ambush with… with Abaddon". Shit, it all makes sense. The demon blood was simply the final ingredient needed to unlock everything Sam had kept dormant.

Lifting his head, not even realizing he had lowered it, he looks at Cas's face as a way to confirm his thoughts. And sure enough, it does. He opens his mouth to say more before he's interrupted by the ding of the coffee machine causing him to jump a bit. Seeing this as a way to change the subject he runs a hand through his hair before asking, "So, another cup?" As Cas is about to accept his proposition the lights in the room begin to flicker.

"What the hell?" He mutters under his breath. The last time this happened was during Sam's detox, since then there hadn't been anything strange. Well too strange for them that is. His words are followed by the sounds of what could only be multiple doors colliding with the wall, hard.

Without words being spoken they practically run toward the area the sound had likely emerged from. That being by Sam's room, and fuck. When they finally get to the hallway where Sam's room lies the lights that mount the walls are flickering. Each door, even the ones that are always closed, has been opened with the doors practically hanging off the hinges.

As he prepared to call out to his little brother he could hear faint retching noises that could only be from down the hall, where the bathroom is. Not wasting any more time he rushes to where the bathroom is, not even looking back to see if Cas is following.

Coming closer he could see that the bathroom is the only room where the lights aren't flickering, yet the door just like the others is barely hanging on. Going further until he's looking in he is greeted to a sight of his brother kneeling on the tile floor. His head leaning into the toilet's ceramic bowl, his hands gripping the edges.

That's when he notices his brother's no longer present bandages on his wrists. And how the skin is smooth and no longer scabbed and torn.

So much for nothing weird happening.

TBC